


Apoptosis

by robnjaxn



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotionally Unavailable Ryo, Exploration of Rape Themes, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Fuck Or Be Dangerous, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Objectification, Rough Sex, Ryo being used as a sex object, but the characterization is sort of a mishmash of various canon, distracted sex, kind of, takes place between epi 5 & 6 of Crybaby, you dont need to know the other canon to get it tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 09:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14691567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robnjaxn/pseuds/robnjaxn
Summary: The proverbial "Akira is a fuck monster and Ryo offers his services."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to take my time here, so if ur like, “there wasn’t this much time between epi 5 and epi 6” ur probably right, but fuck it, I want to drag out the tension. Also I'm cherry picking canon anyway, so... u know. I believe fanfiction is transformative, and therefore a genre all it's own and so this is just a variant on the Devilman franchise, so I'll adhere to or ignore canon as it fits my narrative lol.

Akira’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter again; the lock screen displayed multiple missed calls and unread messages. Ryo looked down at it with a plate of food in his hands. Sporadic thuds came from the ceiling above him, from the bedroom upstairs, threatened to drown out the tense vibrating; when the vibrating stopped, another notification of yet another missed call was added to the lock screen list, followed by another text from Miki.

Ryo didn’t like the messiness of this. Akira was on the verge of being suspiciously missing and Ryo was in no social position to be his liaison. 

It was, however, probably for the best that Akira had quarantined himself. The moment he’d recovered from Sirene, he’d flared into a ravenous point of aggression, impulsive if not kept in extreme check. Akira had all but admitted, - swaying and sweaty, standing in front of Ryo with a tremor in his voice, - that he couldn’t go home, couldn’t go to school, because he was afraid he’d force himself on someone.

_ “Oh. Well. We could-” Ryo had said, then cut himself off. He hadn’t been sure if Akira knew what he was going to say, but he’d decided not to say it out loud. Akira had looked at him, eyes darkening for a moment, before he’d abruptly turned and stomped his way up the stairs. Ryo had felt he shouldn’t follow him. _

Akira had resorted to huddling in the bedroom at Ryo’s condo, uncontrollable in a way Ryo definitely hadn’t expected.

Objectively… Objectively, Ryo had been thinking there was a clean solution to this problem. He’d thought of it almost immediately; a reflexive, logical determination of options that sacrificed no one but himself and didn’t involve any third parties so they could continue as a singular point. And he’d hesitated. For a couple days. Or maybe hesitated wasn’t the word. He’d mulled it over. 

He didn’t know how Akira would take it, wondered if Akira had already thought about it and was categorically rejecting it; if Akira had already answered his proposition with a “no.” Even then, Ryo didn’t know if that “no” stopped him, couldn’t help but rationalize that Akira wasn’t quite in the state of mind, or moral standing, to judge the situation. In any other situation, with any other person, Ryo was thoroughly aware he probably wouldn’t have given it nearly as much thought and would’ve just… implemented his solution. He wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.

A particularly loud thud brought Ryo back to the kitchen. Ryo looked down at the roast beef and potatoes in his hands. He could only guess what was happening in that room. If he went up there with the food, and disturbed Akira while he was having one of his meltdowns... 

He put the plate back down on the counter. A moment passed - the thudding continued - as Ryo rocked on his back heels, realizing he was at the apex of some movement, in momentary stasis before the falling action. 

Then calmly, unhurriedly, Ryo walked out of the kitchen, grabbed his coat from the hallway closet and left out the front door, making sure to slam it shut behind him.

 

-

 

The roast beef was gone, the plate on the kitchen counter empty, when Ryo came back. Ryo made note of it, fingers clasping tighter the grocery bag he’d returned with. The entire walk to and from the nearby gas station, he disregarded first the bundle of nerves in his chest and then the lube in the grocery bag.

Before he could think himself into another lulling procrastination, he climbed the stairs with the plastic bag clutched noisily in his hands. His stride only faltered momentarily in front of the closed bedroom door as he continued on to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him automatically. 

The sucking silence of the entirely white bathroom was different than the rest of the house: intimate and pressuring. The mirror over the faucet sheened dryly; next to that was the toilet; the bathtub stood at the other end of the room. He pulled the lube out of the bag, wadding the bag up and leaving it on the sink. This weird squeezable blue bottle was some “multi-purpose” off-brand that didn’t clearly specify it’s intended use on the white label. Ryo gingerly uncapped it, lifted it to his nose and sniffed it. The smell was faintly musty, like unscented chapstick.

Ryo convinced himself not to feel ridiculous as he put the lube down, sat down on the toilet seat and took off his shoes. He hooked fingers under the waistband of his sweatpants. He closed his eyes, fighting back annoyance, before standing up and pushing them to the ground, stepping out of them and kicking them to join his shoes on floor.

He picked the lube back up. After a moment of consideration, he got down on his knees and pushed his underwear down so they rested around his knees. The lube was thick, leaving a standing line as Ryo squeezed it onto his fingers. With his thumb, he smoothed it across the planes of his fingers; his skin felt a little too sensitive, like his nerve endings were waiting for an assault. He put the bottle on the floor and leaned forward until his face touched the cold tile. His shirt slid down his back, hung away from the front of his body.

He reached back, sliding his fingers over his hole. He rubbed slowly, trying to acclimate to the new feeling of attention paid to this part of his body. His brow furrowed, and he adjusted his knees, pushing against the waistband of his underwear. Slowly, he pushed his middle finger in. Getting to the first knuckle wasn’t too difficult; Ryo forced his shoulders to relax, taking a deep breath before pushing in farther. The second knuckle was a lot harder to get to. Ryo warily twisted his finger, sliding it in incrementally; decided he didn’t want to stop at the second knuckle and went on sluggishly.

When he’d gotten the full finger in, he again adjusted, pushing out his hips. He gently tugged his finger out and pushed back in; he exhaled from his nose. Eyes now pinched closed, his other hand spread out on the floor next to his face, he massaged inside, fingertip pressing against the stuttering pressure. Flirting with the idea of getting the second finger in, he tried pushing against the edge between middle finger and asshole with the tip of his index finger. He wanted to do this quick, efficiently. He wanted to-

He was reminded of Akira in the other room and involuntarily tensed. Thoughts of the physical trial he was about to voluntarily force them both into were quickly banished with rationalizations that this was just another reality of inviting foreign powers into the plans. This wasn’t a big deal; his job was to reassure Akira of that, to calm him back into normality so they could move forward.

Composing himself again, Ryo pulled his middle finger out to the very tip, and angled his index finger to wedge in beside it. He shivered, lips parting, before pushing in with earnest. The stretch was alien; his thighs tensed and untensed, trying to make sense of the treatment. The more he pushed in, the less his fingers cooperated competently; they trembled, moved haltingly. Letting go of the desire to do this mechanically, Ryo resorted to awkward thrusting, just trying to get his fingers in to the base. Frustrated, he pressed in hard, making a choking noise in the back of his throat as the crevices between his fingers met the skin of his ass. Breathing heavy, he reluctantly went back to massaging in and out, the hand next to his face becoming a fist, his short fingernails digging into the skin of his palm.

He settled into the sloppy grinding, thoughts flitting. Did he need a third finger? Akira was  _ big. _ He probably needed a third finger. But he didn’t put lube on the third finger. Stupid, he should’ve- no, his hole was probably lubed enough; he hadn’t skimped on the two fingers. Akira, in the room down the hall, rock hard and big-  _ stop. _

Ryo did similarly with the third finger as he did with the second. With all three finger tips angled tightly into each other, he pressed against his hole. There was resistance, the fingers not immediately making any progress into him. Ryo kept the pressure on, feeling a twist in his stomach that he chalked up to nerves. Finally, they pushed in; Ryo gasped, his cheek scraping against the tile floor as he arched his back.

With his fingertips still opening him, he tried again to spread his knees, shift his hips, relax his back- He had to stop. He pulled the third finger out with a sigh, went back to the two fingers, inserting them relatively easily. With the two, he considered how much room he’d created, spreading them apart, turning them carefully. He was slick, accessible. Whatever was going to happen next, Ryo felt this was the best he could do.

Ryo pulled his fingers out; he felt chilled, empty. Trying not to get too much lube on his clothes, he used the very tip of his thumb and pinkie to pull his underwear up. To which he discovered he’d gotten semi-hard when the fabric pressed uncomfortably against his dick. He balked at that, bringing himself upright on his knees. He was slightly unbalanced, used the sink to help get himself to his feet. He turned on the faucet; the water ran over his fingers. He had to work to get the lube off. The mirror above the sink caught his eye; he could see his reddened cheeks and the hint of perspiration on his brow. He looked back down at his hands, scraping off the lube. He turned, momentarily considered putting back on the pants he’d taken off, then brashly decided against it.

In his underwear, white button-up shirt and white socks, Ryo walked, unsteady and throbbing, to the bedroom door. He thought about just walking in. He knocked instead.

On the other side of the door, there was a thud, a scurrying.

“Hold on.” Akira’s voice was playing at normal but a course tone made the words still too gruff. Ryo waited.

Akira opened the door all the way, standing shirtless and in sweatpants, very obviously trying to hide an erection with his arm. He expression was pinched, his glassy eyes helplessly looking Ryo up and down twice before settling, with obvious effort, on his face. Ryo felt something like pity for him.

“What’s up?” Akira asked like Ryo might’ve been there to discuss business. Ryo correctly reminded himself that he was there on business; Akira wasn’t wrong.

“We need to fix this,” Ryo said, his voice just a dash breathier than usual. Akira pretended to be ignorant, pursing his lips.

Ryo put his hands on Akira’s chest, not in an act of welcoming familiarity, but as a request for restraint between them. He pushed Akira back into the room; Akira followed his guidance, stepping back with him. Once they were both in the room, Ryo dropped his hands, turned and closed the door.

The room was a mess. It looked like Akira had attempted to clean it, the walls and floor and ceiling looking cleaner in some spots more than others; the air smelled like Clorox. A pile of sheets were bundled in the corner. The white sheets currently on the bed were, forgivingly, fresh. Akira must’ve found them and put them on while Ryo was out buying lube.

Ryo was constantly aware of the wetness between his thighs. He wanted to take his underwear back off.

“You need an outlet for this that doesn’t put us in danger,” Ryo stated, turning back to face Akira. Akira’s eyes flicked to the bed against the wall to the right of them, and back to Ryo; he looked somewhat embarrassed, like he hadn’t meant to suggest something that Ryo would notice. Ryo took note of that. “I’m letting you use my body.”

“No,” Akira said, stern. “That’s stupid. That won’t- it won’t fix it.  _ Sirene _ didn’t fix it.”

“Sirene isn’t here, readily available.” Ryo took a step towards the bed. “You can’t hole up in this room forever, and, anywhere else, you present a threat. This isn’t negotiable. Unless you can give me a better idea.”

“We can bring in hookers,” Akira said.

“You tried that. It got messy.” Ryo was now standing at the foot of the bed. Akira had turned to follow him, faced him down; forgot to hide his arousal, his poking cock tenting the front of his pants. Ryo tried not to look at it. “Besides, then you’ll present a danger to some random woman. Or, more likely, a succession of women. I know you don’t want that.”

“I present a danger to you,” Akira said, voice a touch uneven. Ryo remained placid.

“I consent to that.” Ryo sat back on the bed, inwardly cringed at the slide of lube on the back of his underwear. He started unbuttoning his shirt. “You’re in this mess as a favor to me; I’m doing this as a favor to you.”

“No, we can’t just-” Akira started; he was fixedly watching Ryo shrug out of his shirt. “We’d have to  _ keep _ doing this- and-”

“You could fuck me right now,” Ryo said, sharper. “I won’t struggle.”

Akira went pale, hands became restless. Ryo crawled backwards onto the bed, pushing his boxers off. He felt languidly enticing under Akira’s eager eyes; he crossed his ankles, balancing on one elbow, the other hand skating across his own hip. Akira stepped forward like he was being dragged, stopping at the foot of the bed.

“Ryo, come on,” Akira begged and he sounded so human. “I don’t- want to do this to you. With you.”

Ryo looked up at him from the bed, eyes dark under long, delicate lashes. With his knees still together, he lifted his feet into the air. He ran a hand down the back of his thigh, before inserting two fingers into his ass. Akira got up onto the bed, raving, balancing on the edge with his knees.

“Don’t worry. I’ll deal with the logistics of this later,” Ryo muttered, his fingers still deep in. Akira was clearly not hearing him. With shaking hands, he grabbed Ryo’s ankles.

Akira turned him onto his stomach. His enveloping, warm hands yanked Ryo’s hips up; his thumbs on either side, he anxiously spread Ryo’s asshole, exhaling at the sight.

“You did this?” Akira asked low. Ryo felt mildly embarrassed, fingers now scratching against the surface of the sheets. Akira pressed a thumb in, like he was testing the give; Ryo shrugged one shoulder, taking a breath in. It felt weirdly naive, like Akira wasn’t quite aware of what he was doing; Akira was solely concentrated on his interest, his curiosity. “You assumed I was going to say yes? Or you thought- you thought I’d-” Akira gripped Ryo’s ass tighter, pulling against his hole, thumb gliding against skin. Ryo abruptly felt the front of Akira’s sweatpants, the hard line of Akira’s cock beneath cotton, press against him, flushed. Akira grinded against him, his hands curling around and pressing Ryo’s hips, hugging him close. Ryo shuddered at the discernibly trembling solidity of Akira’s dick, a cloth’s breadth away from harsh penetration. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, felt both too eager and sluggish.

Akira suddenly let go, faltering backwards, nearly falling off the foot of the bed. Ryo looked back at him as he yanked his now lube-covered waistband down just enough to free his member. With one hand, he stroked it, grabbed it at the base; the other hand gripped the waistband of his sweats, the fabric twisting under the standing tendons visible on his hand.

“Tell me you didn’t think I was going to  _ rape you _ ,” Akira rasped. The word -  _ rape  _ -, spoken, raised the hair on the back of Ryo’s neck. He looked away from Akira, stared down at the bed in front of him. He blinked, pursed his lips. 

“If you did, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

“ _ Ryo _ ,” Akira gasped. “That’s- awful.” 

Ryo clenched his jaw.

“It’s not untrue,” he said coldly. “And I think you  _ might’ve _ . Raped me, I mean. Right, Akira?”

Akira sidled back up to Ryo’s ass, pressing the head of his dick against Ryo’s hole. Before Ryo could make the effort to relax, Akira thrust in inches deep. Ryo clapped his hand over his mouth, curling his toes and resisting the urge to squirm. A thin panic watered in his eyes, gathered in the spit on his lips.

“No- I wouldn’t have,” Akira objected, low and raggedly. His hands gripped Ryo’s hips again, holding him in place as he slid in further. The pressure of Akira’s dick was a painful throbbing, a sensation that set Ryo’s whole body on edge. Ryo had forgotten to breathe, took wheezing breaths through his nose, his hand still covering the bottom half of his face. 

Akira pushed in to the base and then kept pushing, holding Ryo’s body rigidly against his hips. Akira seemed fixed on being completely buried, grinding in roughly and shoving Ryo’s body further into the mattress. Ryo fisted the sheets in front of him, biting his lips shut. His own dick throbbed between the bed and his stomach, a friction not quite rough enough.

Akira shakily moaned, a noise polar opposite to the gravel in his voice, a guilty sound at an illicit relief. Ryo dragged his lips across the smooth fabric, crushing them to control the buzzing in his mouth, the sounds that threatened to escape him.

“Can- I-” Akira stuttered, hands like vices pulled Ryo back up, back onto his knees. Ryo could feel him shaking. He took a stabilizing breath.

“Do what you need to do,” Ryo said, voice controlled and even, then went back to suffocating himself on the mattress.

Akira dragged his cock out and thrust it back in, whimpering, gasping as he did it again, again, again; a hard, methodical bucking that jarred Ryo’s hips and bruised his tailbone. Ryo dug his fingers into the covers, unwittingly trying to pull away from Akira’s inhuman hold, Ryo’s hiccuping gasps masked by the rhythmic banging of the bed against the wall. The moisture of Ryo's breath, his spit, was turning the white sheets a blurry grey in front of him. He didn't realize he was resisting the urge to touch himself until he bit into the side of his hand, incisor digging into his knuckle.

Akira kept at the same pace. Ryo felt his legs cramping, his shoulders aching. He squeezed his eyes shut, felt a tightening in his chest, the build up of checked restlessness.

Suddenly, Akira’s hands moved to the mattress on either side of Ryo’s torso, releasing their bruising grip on his hips. Akira pressed down on Ryo, slick skin trapping heat between them, as he tensed, choked, a sad, unsure noise dripping from his mouth. Ryo could feel the pulsing of Akira’s dick inside him; it unnerved him. He furrowed his brow, wrinkled his nose, subtly shifting his hips and arching his back as warmth grew inside him. Despite his cognitive distaste, Ryo’s hard-on persisted, begging to be touched.

“Did- did you just come?” Ryo asked, his voice a mite rougher than usual. Akira leaned back up, his hands moving to grab the scant fat of Ryo’s ass, his dick still buried to the hilt.

“Yeah.” Akira went back to lazily thrusting into Ryo, fingers stroking his soft skin.

“Don’t come inside me,” Ryo said too late. He lifted himself onto his elbows, scrubbing his face with his trembling hands. 

“Sorry,” Akira breathed. Ryo felt like Akira wasn't quite connecting Ryo’s voice to Ryo's body, or Ryo's body to  _ Ryo _ . He felt like Akira was answering him like he was in the other room. “Can I keep going?”

“Can you?” Ryo asked in sincerity.

“Yeah.” Akira’s hands skated up Ryo's side but quickly went back to his hips, retreating like he'd touched a hot stove.

Ryo closed his eyes. Akira's thrusting now wasn't as aggressive, and Ryo had gotten used to the passive stretch of it. Ryo resigned himself to the mattress, yielding into the sheets.

Ryo was under no illusion that Akira wanted him specifically, if at all; still, he helplessly ached in fulfilling some necessary role, at being useful and used. His leaking erection wanted attending to, but Ryo refused to do it where Akira could see or feel. Ryo felt that it would be to his benefit if he could claim that he was physically neutral about this. Because Akira's mindless fucking was definitely an advantage; Ryo imagined they could keep this physical thing painlessly uninvolved. He'd just have to reassure Akira that this was harmless, that there was no reason to believe that this problem wasn't fixed, that Ryo was a willing and passive receiver with no ulterior motives, no interest in it, no interest in Akira’s time or affection. Ryo felt he could easily keep that up.

Akira sighed, pulling out of Ryo, leaving him feeling open and exposed; Ryo felt cum spilling down his thighs. Ryo looked back at Akira, watched him stroke himself, lips parted, sweat plastering hair to his face, eyes closed. Akira came again, groaning, cum first streaking onto Ryo's back and then, losing steam, running down the length of Akira’s cock, viscous and white. It gathered in the crevices of his fingers as he caressed upwards, pulling at his skin. He opened his eyes, focussed on Ryo’s hole, slick and flush.

“Can I put it back in?” Akira asked, grabbing Ryo’s ass; he pressed his thumb in. Ryo experienced a newfound sensitivity, sucked a breath through his gritted teeth at Akira’s touch. Ryo reluctantly nodded, rubbing his cheek against the sheets, trying not to be disturbed by the hot ejaculate on his back, ignoring the twinge of pain in his hips, his knees; the cramping in his thighs, the soreness in his back. His arms felt weak, shivering from held tension.

Akira rutted between Ryo's ass cheeks, slathering the cum that had gathered onto Ryo. Akira was still hard, frighteningly so, despite his two consecutive orgasms; Ryo was fighting the urge to ask Akira when he thought he'd be done.

Akira pressed himself in again, stopped at just the tip and pulled out; pushing back in, going a little farther, but pulling back out. Akira repeated this pattern, never fully pushing in and retreating with a released breath. Ryo didn’t know if Akira meant to do it, but it was devastatingly effective in getting Ryo off; he felt a twinge of anticipation with every slow insertion, and a jealous fall of disappointment when Akira pulled out. 

Ryo’s cock twitched, antagonizing. He was desperate for relief. He wanted to press himself against the bed again, get any sort of friction on his own nagging hard-on, but Akira didn't let him move. Ryo wondered if Akira was even aware he was trying to move. 

Akira thrust in, slowly making it all the way to the base once again. Ryo clamped his eyes shut and reached down. His hand touched his own dick and it was all Ryo could do not to moan. He shakily stroked himself, mirroring the methodical dicking Akira was giving him, taking several deep, choking breaths; he was going to come. He was-

Ryo let go of himself, stopping on the very edge of release. He teetered there, fluttering, gasping, but keeping himself in check.

Akira was back to aggressive thrusting, bracing Ryo’s hips and now moving them so they met him mid-thrust. Ryo fought the compulsion to command the movement of his body, the natural want to be in control of his muscles and tendons, to either actively follow Akira’s hands or pull against them. He wanted Akira to be the sole player in this act, and, anyway, Ryo suspected if he tried to intervene, he’d hurt himself. (Or, Akira would hurt him. Ryo didn’t see a difference.) Ryo shuddered severely, forgetting to relax but feeling no difference whether he tried to or not. Akira’s cock had rubbed him numb, loose; Ryo was desperately thankful for the incongruous amount of cum dripping down his legs, saving him from the grating friction.

Akira gasped, begging unintelligibly. Ryo hated how soft his voice was, spreading prayers on Ryo’s back. He hated how urgent Akira’s fingers were digging into him, how his skin pulled against Ryo’s, how trapped muggy heat beaded sweat on Akira’s chest and Ryo's back; the physicality of their bodies objectively coupled was suddenly too intimate, all catching up to Ryo in the drag of Akira’s cock, the flinching of his own body, the sheets between his fingers, white knuckled to keep from crying out.

Ryo felt Akira pulsing inside him again before Akira could pull out; Ryo felt again the wet mess running down his legs, splattering on his back. He felt raw, the exposure to the air causing an unpleasant cramping in his hips. He faltered, his knees giving out under him; Akira reflexively caught him.

They were like that - breathing heavy and shuddering, slick with sweat, Ryo propped up by Akira's strong hands - for a brief moment.

“Are- are you okay?” Akira sounded almost normal. “I'm sorry I-”

“I'm fine,” Ryo said curtly.

“Are you su-”

“Yes. I'm fine.”

Another moment passed. Akira let go of Ryo's hips, a lingering motion like he was afraid Ryo was going to drop. Ryo refused to collapse onto the bed, instead unsteadily sitting back. More cum dripped out of him. When Akira was sure Ryo could hold himself of his own power, he laid down on the bed next to him. Akira's cock was still semi-hard, wavering in the air, slick; Akira stared at the ceiling, expression serious. Ryo watched him with glassy, watery eyes, waited. 

It was apparent to Ryo that Akira was being moody. Ryo decided he'd have to take care of that later.

“I'm gonna go take a shower,” Ryo said lightly.

“Okay,” Akira said to the ceiling.

 

-

 

Ryo stumbled into the bathroom, went right to the bathtub, turned on the water and let it run as he fell back onto the tile, laid down on his back, his legs akimbo. The ceiling felt a thousand feet above him and swaying. He was sore all over, exhausted, couldn’t pick himself off that floor if he wanted to. The rumbling of the faucet filled the air, a barrier against listening ears. Ryo scrubbed his face with one hand and wrapped impatient fingers around his shaft with the other. He groaned, an angry noise, as he pumped himself.

Once they’d done this enough, Akira wouldn’t be so ravenous, and it wouldn’t be such a physical ordeal; or Ryo thought that made sense.

Ryo moaned, stuck on the edge, hurting from the built up pressure of denied release. He stroked faster, lifting his hips; he complained aloud, cussing at his protesting muscles. Exacerbated, he propped his feet on the edge of the bathtub; water still poured from the faucet, swirled down the drain, started to steam the air. He reached down and slid a finger into his open asshole, panted out at the instant discomfort, the frantic twitch of his cock in his hand.

Ryo didn't know what the fuck he was doing. 

For one of only a few times in his recountable memory, he was at a loss for the point of his current actions. It didn't necessarily fit into any agenda, which was genuinely spooky. Instead Ryo found himself needing his fingers deeper, - was able to get to three fingers thrusting, easily - needed the thought of the cum -  _ Akira's _ cum - coating his skin, needed his own voice vibrating against his lips, needed-  _ wanted _ a mouth to swallow his noises, to gnaw away the uncomfortable buzzing in his lips.

He came, fingers digging into taut, convulsing muscles, silent and shaking. The sound of the rushing water was loud, enveloping, a white noise that felt visible in the shifting steam gathering on the ceiling. Cum fell onto his stomach, his fingers; indistinguishable from the mess already made.

For a moment, Ryo stayed exactly as he was, shivering, open-mouthed, and sweaty; exhausted and momentarily confused, his feet still propped against the side of the bathtub and fingers still pressed between soft thighs. He let his fingers slide out of his asshole, released his waning hard-on.

He felt like shit. 

He was instantly disgusted with the slickness of the tile under his back, the lube and cum under his fingernails, the sweat dripping off his forehead. He didn't want to move, but he also couldn't stand being where he was. Lonely, suddenly.

Before he could explore that feeling, he sat up. Was he… dizzy? He wasn't going to acknowledge that either. He forced himself onto his feet, and, despite his weak knees, stepped into the bathtub one foot at a time and closed the curtain.

 

-

 

It was late, the night sky turning the living room windows an opaque black.

Ryo was on his phone curled into the cushions of the couch, his hair still damp from the shower; his laptop laid closed on the coffee table next to him. The place was silent.

Akira joined him, descending the stairs with light steps and carefully sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. 

Ryo didn't look up from his phone; scrolled through posts, thumb tapping the screen rhythmically. Akira stared down at his hands; then took a breath, opened his mouth to speak.

“You should call Miki,” Ryo suggested, eyes still downcast. Akira let out the breath he took.

“Yeah,” Akira muttered. Ryo thought he'd say more, but he lapsed into silence again.

“Your phone’s in the kitchen,” Ryo continued.

“I know.” Ryo looked up at him. They met eyes; Akira didn't look away, his face stern and pale. “What- what are we doing?”

“What do you mean?” Ryo asked, looked back down at his phone, unseeing.

“Ryo. Please don't give me that shit.” 

“I'm serious.” Ryo's eyes flicked up from the screen; Akira’s brow was pinched. “What confuses you?”

“I don't like this.” Akira looked over his shoulder at the hallway to the front door. “It feels manipulative and gross.”

“Do you feel like I manipulated you?”

“No,” Akira said with a shake of his head; but then he considered it, sighing. “Yes. But I feel like I'm also manipulating you. I just- don't want to… do that.”

“But you already did it.  _ We _ already did it. So it's no big deal.”

“I don't think that-”

“I don't mind,” Ryo continued. “I  _ didn't _ mind. If we need to do it again, it's fine. I promise. It doesn't bother me.”

“You wouldn't tell me if it bothered you,” Akira said definitively.

“You’re right; I wouldn't,” Ryo admitted, breezy.

“Ryo, this doesn't help your case.”

“I'm being honest.” Ryo audibly tapped his screen. “There would be no reason to tell you if it bothered me. But I'm telling you it doesn't. That's all you're responsible for.”

Akira pursed his lips, his features softening. He got up from the couch and started toward the kitchen, stopped short, wavered. He turned back and walked over to where Ryo sat. Ryo looked up at him, unsure.

Akira leaned down, crouching, and wrapped his arms around Ryo, pulling him into a hug, a familiar gesture, platonic and comfortable. Akira’s face was pressed into Ryo's shoulder, nose and lips tucked against Ryo's collar. Ryo returned the affection, relieved, his hands sliding across Akira's shoulder blades.

“Don't do this if it'll make you hate me,” Akira said.

“I could never hate you,” Ryo replied. Akira held him tighter.

“I need this to be okay,” Akira murmured.  _ He needed Ryo to make this okay. _

“I know,” Ryo said, absentmindedly rubbing his back. 

Akira breathed in deep before letting go, turning briskly and leaving to get his phone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters? yes.

 

_Can't come over today, sorry. Promised Miki I'd help at home._

Ryo stared at the text, frowned; flicked through the conversations over the past few days that'd boiled down to Akira being “too busy.”

Ryo decided not to linger on it.

 _I understand._ Ryo sent back.

 

-

 

Ryo jolted awake, throwing off the blanket, gasping, choking. The bed was muggy, radiating heat against his sweat slick skin, but he felt shivery, his fingers, toes numb. He sat hunched for a second in the navy dark, trying to breathe, his brain gripping tight the fluttering edges of whatever he'd been dreaming about. He quickly fumbled for his phone and unlocked it without registering the time, opened the notes and started typing, ripping his thoughts out from the edge of the inky abyss and scrambling to tape them somewhere he could find them.

Then it was gone just as fast; he hit a mental wall, unscalable and menacing, and suddenly he was just staring down at his phone with paragraphs of nonsense. It was barely recognizable as a language. He copied it, opened his browser and put it into Google Translate. It detected no language and offered no translation. Of course it couldn't be that easy.

“Fuck,” Ryo breathed, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. His heart was still pounding, his breathing still labored.

_TAP TAP TAP TAP._

Ryo startled, head whipping towards the sound. A dark face was peeking in through the window, obscured; the long figure was hanging from the sill, off the side of the house. Ryo stared at it from his bed. It tapped again.

 _TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP_.

Ryo quietly got out of bed in only his boxer briefs, standing on the pads of his feet, perspiration coated skin feeling chilled. He leaned towards the nightstand, thought briefly of turning on the lamp then thought against it, instead opened the drawer and fingered the pistol he'd stashed there.

“ _Ryo,”_ a faint voice called. Ryo stared a moment longer, hand still on the gun. Then he left it, quickly padded over to the window, unlatched the pane and pushed it open.

“Akira?” As soon as the window was open, Akira plunged into the room and wrapped himself around Ryo. Ryo stumbled back, the bottom of his face pushed into Akira’s shoulder; he involuntarily grabbed onto Akira, trying to keep them on their feet, vaguely embarrassed of the sweaty, half-naked state he was in. “What-”

“I'm sorry- It's late,” Akira said. “But can we- Can we-”

Akira’s hands were clutching at Ryo's back, shifting lower until they were pushing against the waistband of Ryo's underwear. Ryo realized Akira's jeans were just barely concealing his arousal, a hard line which was now pressed against Ryo's hip.

“Why didn't you come over earlier?” Ryo asked, delving his fingers in Akira’s hair, hugging him back. Akira pushed his hands into the back of Ryo's boxer briefs, fingers indenting into the fat, pulling him closer, hips grinding.

“I didn't want to,” Akira muttered. Ryo tsked; he was too tired for this.

“Stop being childish,” Ryo said. “Put me on the bed.”

Akira obliged, easily lifting Ryo and pushing him back onto the bed, turning him over and yanking down his underwear. He stroked Ryo's skin, thumbs skimming.

Ryo realized his mistake.

“We can't do this dry,” Ryo said flatly, lifting himself on his elbows.

Ryo felt the abrupt press of something between his cheeks, the flat of Akira's tongue dragging up across his opening. Ryo’s mind went blank for a second, eyes unfocused, his body tensing. Akira’s fingers dug into his skin as he lapped at Ryo, his head tilting as he pressed in farther. Ryo gasped, shuddering.

“ _Akira, stop._ ” Ryo hissed. Akira leaned away, his tongue mercifully leaving. Ryo tried to compose himself, his cock now awkwardly pressing against the bed.

“What?”

“You can't- use spit. The lube’s in the bathroom. Go get it.”

Akira ran a thumb across Ryo's hole, smearing the saliva he’d left there; Ryo silently begged him not to try anything bold. Akira got up; Ryo heard his bedroom door click open and fall close.

Ryo heaved a sigh, shifting out of his underwear and tossing it over the side of the bed before lying flat on his stomach and tucking his face into his arms. He already had a layer of drying sweat on his body from his nightmare; he felt oily, knew he was about to feel oilier.

The blue light on his cell phone blinked on the bed next to him. He picked it up, hit the button on the side; unlocked it to the unintelligible notes. The Greek alphabet soup of letter groupings danced on the bright screen, hurting his eyes in the dark room. He turned down the brightness a tad.

He knew it meant something. He could try to figure it out on his own through sheer bullheadedness, but he was already working on so many time-consuming projects, most of which revolved around extra-physical malevolent beings and/or Akira. He supposed all he needed was for someone, anyone, to decipher its meaning; Ryo was only interested in solving the relevance of it in conjunction to his current fixation.

The bedroom door opened; Ryo hit the home button, closing the notes. When Akira didn't immediately join him on the bed, Ryo looked back at him, phone still in hand. Akira had gotten completely naked, so was standing exposed and aroused at Ryo's door.

“Are- you busy?” Akira asked. Ryo had forgotten not to examine Akira’s hips; he looked with hooded eyes, felt his breath shallow. He looked down at his phone.

“I can do both,” Ryo said, turning back around and tapping open his email.

“Uhm, okay,” Akira said, before shuffling up to the bed with the lube in hand. “I mean, I wouldn't want to _distract_ you.” There was a slight sarcasm to his voice that wasn't lost on Ryo. Akira climbed onto the bed, kneeling over the prone Ryo; Ryo lifted his hips and spread his legs. Akira grabbed his ass roughly, dragging him toward him.

“Don't worry,” Ryo muttered. “I'll be on my phone the entire time.”

“Right.” Akira clicked open the lid of the bottle; Ryo heard the sucking sound of lube being spread on fingers, Ryo's only indicator of Akira's movements.

Ryo started an email, scrolled through his university contacts, trying to recall specific department heads; he hesitated over the name of a linguistics professors. He'd have to fabricate a story to explain his request-

Akira’s first two fingers swiped across Ryo's hole before pushing in unashamedly. Ryo gripped the sheets below him with one hand and continued on his phone with the other, forcing himself to focus on his task. He selected the linguistics professor, then thought he’d also get in contact with the computer engineering department in case the notes were code and- Akira thrust his fingers in deeper, rubbing inside Ryo; his other hand was caressing Ryo’s lower back, finger tips skittering over his skin. Akira was uncareful, his fingers pulling and pushing, wrist twisting. It felt wildly different than when Ryo did it to himself, vastly more jarring, more unpredictable.

“How long do I have to do this?” Akira asked, absently. Ryo felt him shift closer on the bed, felt the heat of his skin on the back of his legs.

“I- don't know,” Ryo sighed, trying to concentrate on his phone.

“Is this good enough?” Akira asked; his fingers curled, pressing. A sudden ache shot through Ryo's hips, twisted in his groin, hard-on twitching.

“Ah- _Mhm_ ,” Ryo replied. He realized he'd dropped his phone, picked it back up, fumbling. “I- I think that's enough.”

“Really?” Akira sounded light, loose. He pulled his two fingers out to the tips. “Think I could get three fingers in?”

Ryo hesitated; before he could reply, Akira started slowly working in his third finger, gingerly rotating them into Ryo. Ryo ducked his head, his hair falling forward onto the screen of his phone, and choked on the curses he refused to air; Akira's other hand laid flat on Ryo's back, supportive. Akira made it all the way to the second knuckle before making small thrusting movements, teasing the tension in Ryo's muscle. Ryo tossed his head to the side, tucking it against his shoulder, shuddering and exhaling audibly.

Akira pushed in farther, slowly, until the crevice between his ring finger and pinkie was flush with Ryo's ass. Ryo anticipated more, a further pushing in, realized that he wanted more, and was physically disappointed when there wasn't; it was on the edge of satisfying, but not quite. Akira moved his fingers, his thumb resting on Ryo's skin. Ryo realized he was expending an enormous amount of energy trying to keep his breath off his vocal cords, was going to start moaning if Akira kept up this teasing, which, he felt, would be embarrassing.

“ _Akira_ ,” Ryo gasped, controlled. “That's enough.”

Akira pulled his fingers out, replaced them with the press of his tip, not quite penetrating. Ryo adjusted his legs, pleased with the progression.

Akira slid in, steady and silent, holding Ryo's hips in place, - the fingers on his right hand wet, slippery. Ryo shifted, the bed underneath them creaking, lost his thoughts in the endless drag of Akira’s cock, the heavy inches spreading him.

Akira’s hips pressed into the fat of Ryo's ass, fully seated, fingernails scraping into Ryo's skin; Ryo was thankful, pressed the top of his phone against his forehead, lips parting, eyes shutting.

Ryo had forgotten himself, reminded by the edge of the phone screen on his brow.

He pulled the phone away from his forehead with effort, wiped the sweat that'd smeared on it's screen on the sheets, forced himself to type his subject line with stuttering fingers; he was grateful for autocorrect for once in his life.

_Transcript for Translating Good evening I've encountered a note in the margin of a text of mine I believe is-_

Akira’s hips thrust roughly, pushed the air out of Ryo's lungs. Ryo bit his lips shut, trembling.

_-is relevant to my research I understand you are busy but I would appreciate your prompt assistance and thank you in advance for-_

Akira reached forward, guiding Ryo's hips with one hand, the other denting into the bed next to Ryo. Akira grinded into him, hunching over him; he ducked his head, pressed his forehead into the Ryo's crown. Ryo could hear his ragged breath, punctuated by his forceful thrusts.

_-for your dedication Attached below is the file in question I look forward to hearing back from you soon Regards Prof. Ryo Asuka_

The moment he'd finished the signature, he sent the email, then cradled the phone against his cheek, blinking heavily. He allowed himself to enjoy the forceful snap of Akira's hips, the heat of his body pressed against his. He didn't know what was different this time, but he was easily melting into it, comfortable and drowsy. His eyelashes were wet and clumping from passive tears; he pressed the back of his hand to his lips, skin tingling.

Akira thrust and an ache like the one before cramped in Ryo's hips; Ryo moaned against the back of his hand, spit gathering at the corner of his mouth. Abandoning his senses, he angled his hips, desperately trying to feel it again.

Akira tried to pull out; Ryo leaned back, following him, not allowing him to leave. Akira gripped Ryo's hips, groaned, gasped.

“Ryo, I'm- ah-” Akira was shaking, palms slick.

“Hold on,” Ryo sighed, moving back onto Akira’s dick slowly, the smooth screen of his phone pressed hard to his cheek. Akira panted, staying still as Ryo grinded on him. Ryo found that ache again, stuttering and gasping, pulsing on that spot.

“ _Ryo_ -” Akira complained.

“Stop- stop- hold on-” Ryo gasped. He thrust back hard, taking all of Akira's cock again, trembling, and came without touching himself; Ryo hadn't realized how close he was, was overwhelmed by the sensation of Akira, inches deep, as his muscles involuntarily contracted around him. Akira pressed in, swearing. He bucked his hips into Ryo, tempo frantic. Ryo reeled, burying his face in the mattress, holding the phone to his chest.

Akira pulled out just as he fell over the edge, shoving Ryo away, pushing him into the bed, brusquely dragging out his twitching cock; cum dripped onto the mattress between Ryo's legs.

The bed shifted as Akira sat back on his heels, breathing hard. Ryo felt a thin regret, untouched and shaking facedown on the mattress. He gathered himself, lifting himself up on his elbows and checking his phone. It was greasy with sweat. He frowned.

Akira didn't move to continue. His breathing was rough; he inhaled deeply, cleared his throat, exhaled sharply.

Ryo rolled over, sitting up, leaning back against the headboard, keeping his eyes on his phone. He didn't trust himself to look up; Akira was still kneeling on the sheets facing him, looking haggard.

“You can sleep here if you want,” Ryo said, hoping to sound casual. Akira was staring down at his hand, oily with lube, slowly catching his breath.

“No, I should get going,” He said, voice even. He dropped his hand; looked up at Ryo, eyes flickering in the dark, watched him for a moment, waiting. Ryo saw him in his peripheral, but didn't look up from his phone.

Akira pursed his lips, looked back down. With a sharp turn, he got up off the bed, walked out the bedroom door. He came back with his clothes on, disheveled, and his hand washed. He didn't acknowledge Ryo as he walked over to the window and climbed out, dropping to the ground below.

Alone, in silence, Ryo tossed his phone onto the bed, brought his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them and stared at the wall.

 

-

 

Ryo wanted to close his laptop and end the Skype call he’d accepted. Some jackass in a polo and thick rimmed glasses was trying to make himself seem a lot more competent about language than he really was; he was staring at Ryo through the screen like he wanted Ryo to respond, but he never paused in his diatribe, which sounded like he was reading off a script.

“-We figured out it wasn't gibberish when we discovered the quintessential pattern of this text, which conveys in it's didactic use of repetitive signifiers an obvious etymology. This dialect exhibits themes which are considered among scholars a paradigm of what derives from a fundamentally complicated Hellenistic culture; following that trail, we were able to surmise a key which corresponded with various character groupings, to flesh out-”

“Please don’t try to impress me; get to the point,” Ryo said, sitting back on the couch and leaning on his hand. The man on the screen looked sweaty.

“Uhm- uh, -flesh out meaning, which can only be determined through research into the connotation of the signified, so… so- the-” He struggled visibly, before sighing loudly and shaking his head. He picked up his pen from the table and stared down at his keyboard, no longer looking at Ryo through the viewer. “Okay. So, what you sent was really, really strange. We were at a complete loss. We… _I_ thought it was nonsense, a trick that just looked like language. This- it was translated by sheer luck. It's written in the wrong characters. We sounded it out phonetically and a Jewish grad student suggested that it _sounded_ vaguely Hebrew; she suggested we contact a nearby Hasidic community. Your note, whatever it was, is encoded Aramaic.”

“Aramaic?”

“It's a really old language used in the Middle East-”

“I know what Aramaic is,” Ryo said. “Can you send me the notes on that?”

“Of course...” The man tapped his pen on the table, looked meek. “Dr. Asuka… can I ask you something?”

Ryo considered him with a blank expression. “Go ahead,” he said.

“Where did you find this?” When Ryo didn't react and didn't respond, the man fumbled, continued. “Uh, I mean, we were sounding this out using an American English accent, which was- the chances of this being translated the way it was, as _quickly_ as it was- It's mind boggling. And, - _obviously you can look at the translation and determine its meaning for yourself,-_ but part of it seemed to be some kind of chemical formula, based on a pretty recent formula system, and the other part seemed to be stage directions, or a ritual of some sort.”

“Hm.” Ryo nodded like he'd expected something like that; internally, he was wracking his memory for the relevance of it. “I found this note in the margins of a nineteenth century Talmud that'd been gifted to me by a colleague in Prague.”

“Probably would've been helpful to know that when you sent it,” the man replied, nervous laughing. “Knowing it was connected to Judaism and from Europe would've narrowed it down considerably. But aren't you a professor of biology? What kind of research-”

“Sorry, I'm under a gag order from the university. I can't discuss my research with anyone outside my research team,” Ryo said flatly. He checked his phone. “Excuse me, I’ve run out of time. Be sure to email me those notes. And tell your supervisor that I'm indebted to him.”

“Thank you, Dr. As-”

Ryo shut the laptop.

 

-


End file.
